


The blood, sex and booze; A boy called kill.

by deadbeatgrouch (Deducingsocks)



Category: Green Day
Genre: Dark, M/M, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deducingsocks/pseuds/deadbeatgrouch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Some-days he feels like dying; he gets so sick of crying."<br/>Billie Joe Armstrong is in a psychiatric ward due to psychological trauma inflicted by his trusted band mate. He hasn't told a soul about what happened but he knows the time is coming when he will have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> .Mike Dirnt and Billie Joe Armstrong are in an established relationship.  
> .Mentions of rape and torture.

I don't know how or why it started. We were best friends. I knew everything about the man; so did Mike. We both knew Tre like the back of our hands and we loved him unconditonally just like a brother.

He was the only one who was genuinely happy for us when Mike and I started dating. People followed of course but not with the same bubbly, _Tre_ enthusiasm.When I was annoyed or angry he was my little ray of jay. I think he was everyone's really, he was always bouncing around and cracking jokes.

That's why it threw me so far from the rails. It’s as if everything before then was a lie and my life just seemed to shatter completely around me. I couldn't understand why he did it, especially to me. I turned it over and over in my mind until I was thinking about it in my sleep and yet it still remained a gruesome mystery to me.

I don't deal well with anxiety and paranoia but this knocked me further than I ever thought I would fall. Worse still; I didn't think I could ever get back up.


	2. I am both happy and sad at the same time.

Sunlight swept across the floor of my room. The bars upon my windows cut even lines in its golden center and the fluttering of the blinds produced eerie shadows.

It was twelve noon. Patients were all up and moving around while nurses preformed their hourly checks. Yet, I still lay were I was, in my safe room, wrapped in my woven blanket brought into me by my mother and wearing my boyfriends 'slugger' jersey.

I had been in Springmount for a month and I still hadn't made a single attempt to talk to anyone. I didn't want to move amongst the other 'crazies', I didn't want friends or acceptance; I wanted my life back.

A tray of yesterday’s untouched supper sat on the table along with a packet of new cigarettes, which, I'm sure, had lain there since I had entered. I had lost severe amounts of weight from my near starvation and my fragile bones protruded from my skin uncomfortably into the mattress on which I lay.

Dr Autumn was the only one I spoke to. She listened and understood about my family, about the death of my beloved father and about the heartache that followed. She didn't judge or make faces at me; Yet, I still found it hard to talk about Tre.

She pressed me to tell her everything but thinking about it made my heart break all over again and I would find myself unable to breathe. Three out of five times I had entered that room; I have left in someone else’s arms.

A knock on my door roused me from my thoughts. A nurse popped her head around the barrier and smiled sweetly. Sadistic bitch.

"Mr Armstrong, Autumn would like to see you now."

I sighed and got out of my bed. She handed me my hooded sweatshirt, which was three sizes too big, and I slipped on my creepers before she ushered me from the room.

"How are you feeling today?" she asked.

I nodded rather than replied. The sound of her heels clicking the tiles made my bones twitch and even the elegant swing of her hips made me want to kill her.

It also made me miss Mike. I hadn't seen him in a week and, Christ, I missed him so much. The nurse watched me carefully, and recognizing my pained expression, patted me gently on the shoulder. I flinched away from her touch.

"I'm sorry." she whispered.

The rest of our journey was spent in silence. She kept her hands to herself and I kept mine tucked beneath my arm pits. We passed many of the other nurses, doctors and patients but I made no effort to greet them.  
The patients weren't crazy, well not how you would imagine 'crazy'. They are long term insomniacs, MPD suffers, victims of abuse and other such things; all of which had really fucked with their head. I guess you can say that's what happened to me. Long term psychological shit had finally driven me insane.

She left me at the door of Autumn’s office and, as usual, I strolled inside without pausing to knock; let’s just say I had given up on common courtesy.

"Ah Billie Joe. Please take a seat."

She gave me her best fake smile, gesturing to the seat in front of her desk. I sat, crossed my legs and began to pick at the edge of my fingernails. Immediately she began into her usual jabber about ‘how was I feeling?’ ‘Was the medication helping?’ and ‘Had I made any friends?.’ I nodded and shook my head at the appropriate intervals all the while ignoring her words. On and on she went, her voice just a simple buzzing in the air around me. The sudden silence roused me from my own daydream.

“To day is the day Mr Armstrong.” She said, a smile no longer tugging at the edges of her plumb lips, “It has been a month and you haven’t spoken about what drove you to this. It’s about time we got to the problem so that we can start finding the solution.”

I watched her for a moment, watched how she twiddled the pen between her slender fingers, how she tapped her foot and gazed at me from behind her designer glasses. Her eyes told me everything I needed to know; she meant it.

“What if I don’t want to talk?” my voice was small and hoarse from lack of use, but I continued despite my frail vocal cords, “Y-you can’t force me.”

“No, I can’t. But you know yourself that it is for your own health. The sooner we help you, the sooner we can send you on your way.”

My finger nails, again, became my main attraction. I picked at their edges until the skin lifted and the pink flesh was revelled.

“Billie Joe?” I gazed up at her, “In your own time.”

“T-this is hard.”

“I know.”

“You aren’t allowed to laugh.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I take this very seriously.”

I took a deep breath and grasped my shaking hands tightly together. I met her hazel gaze, her kindly sympathetic eyes stilled my furious heart by a fraction; a fraction which was most certainly welcome.

“It was near two years ago when…it started.”


	3. My bodies flesh: Only flesh.

Adrienne, my ex-wife and close friend, sat across from me at my boyfriend’s diner. We both had a coffee in front of us and masses of shiny new gossip. We met once a week, or more when we were off, to catch up and talk about how our lives were fairing out. She had no hard feelings about our divorce, which I was very grateful for. She was in fact the one who had suggested it because we simply weren’t in love anymore. It was, what you could call, a healthy break up. Very healthy.

She was doing well with her clothing range and myself and her co-owned a record label. Everything was great; the band, my writing, my love life.

“So I met this guy at the bakery.” She glanced up from her coffee, a slight smirk on her lips.

I smiled and lent my head on one of my hands, looking extremely gay for the sake of comedy. She giggled before gingerly sipping her coffee.

“His name’s Finn. He’s a journalist.” Her voice became a sing song.

“How tall?” I asked.

She laughed. She knew all too well about my height obsession.

“Taller than you anyway BJ. I didn’t exactually ask him ‘Oh hey, by the way, what height are you? And weight?’”

I cocked an eyebrow.

“What? I can be sensitive about weight?” she replied.

It continued like this for most of the morning. With the stress we both injured each and every week it was a beautiful thing to be able to relax like this.

That feeling carried off into the evening when Mike and I kicked back and watched a movie from his obsessively large collection. That night we didn’t have sex, we weren’t the sort of couple who had to have it every night.

But I was happy, genuinely happy, for what would be the last time.

*****

Autumn stopped me, asking would I like a mug of tea. I nodded and she sent for her assistant who brought in a tray with two mugs, biscuits, milk and sugar. I held the warmth between both my hands protectively.  
“So, you and Adrienne had a good relationship after the split?”

I nodded.

“That’s good. And the band and your friendships and other relationships were going well?”

Again I nodded; annoyed that she seemed to be repeating everything I had just said. She jotted a few points down on her notepad.

“Okay. I would just like to get a little further today before I let you go.”

“T-that’s alright.” I attempted a smirk, “I tea to finish anyway.”

To my surprise she smiled.

“Well, in your own time.”

*****

We started playing around with some songs the next day. Tre had been on vacation in Germany for two weeks after his latest girlfriend had left him. He was pretty cut up about it so we weren’t surprised to find him still as bummed when he came back as he was when he left. But we continued regardless.

However his temper was thinner than ever and his dark mood was beginning to affect the other crew. Me, being the usual ‘Mr. Fix-it’ that I was, stayed behind at the studio that evening to get him to talk it out; something he obviously hadn’t done in Germany.

I sat next to him on the couch and handed him a beer.

“Tre, dude, what’s up? Your vacation not help?”

“No. It fucking sucked. Europe sucks.”

“You weren’t saying that on the last tour.” I laughed, remembering his sexual escapades on our last tour.  
However, he didn’t as much as smirk. He just glared at me darkly.

“Not the time for jokes huh?”

He watched me for a moment longer, his blue eyes looking me up and down hungrily. My skin began to crawl and I took to studying the top of my beer bottle. It felt so awkward just sitting here next to him; a man who was meant to be my best friend.

The beverage was snatched from my hands and roughly thrown onto the coffee table. My head snapped up just in time for Tre to force his lips against mine. I tried to push him away and deny his kiss but he was so rough, his hands gripping my arms and pushing me park against the couch, his tongue poking and prodding at my lips and his teeth, eventually, biting them. I whimpered into the kiss but instead of letting up, he played roughly with my tongue. He pulled back and grinned. His nails were dug into my arms and his face was inches from mine. I was so shocked by what had just happened I was entirely speechless.

“You look so fucking beautiful when you’re afraid.”

He kissed me again. Using his lower body he shuffled my legs apart and lay against my abdomen. I could feel his erection against my own flaccid crotch. He roughly rubbed and moved against my shaking body. I could already see the bruises forming on my arms and my lips from where he had continually bit me.

“I want to hear you scream.” He whispered into my ear.

Despite myself, I struggled. He gripped hold of my shoulders, lifted me up and then painfully threw me back against the chairs arm again. I cried out in pain; but it was nothing compared to what followed.

He violently thrust my pants down to my ankles, along with my boxers and unzipped his own attire. All the while he kept me held down and his mouth coarsely against mine. He snarled as he noticed my flaccid cock before violently tugging the tender appendage. I screamed and cried, begging him to stop but I could help my bodies’ reaction and soon I was almost as hard as he was.

What happened next was a blur or pain, sweat and grunting. My own voice was stifled by his hand, yet I opened my mouth to scream and cry into his palm. I freely let the tears fall as he thrust harder and harder into my entrance, his own face screwed up in maniacal pleasure.

When he was finished he left me on the couch in the wreck room of the studio. But not before he wrapped his hands around my throat and made me promise that I wouldn’t say a word. How could I? How could I say something about this to anyone; about my best friend? The situation was so strange and horrid that all I wanted to do was block it from my memory. But, I guess, I knew then, as I lay on that couch crying my eyes out and tending to the various oozing wounds, that it wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning.


	4. Routine.

Some point between starting my story and finishing it I had set my coffee, cold and neglected, on the table and began to weep. Autumn remained where she was, a curious look on her face. She passed me a box of tissues but offered me no comfort of her own. I sniffled and whimpered into a soft Kleenex for a good fifteen minutes before I was able to gain some control.

“I think we should call it a day Mr Armstrong.” She smiled at me.

I nodded and gently stood up.

“D-don’t tell anyone.” I whispered.

“I won’t. I can’t. But, Billie Joe, we’ll work through this.”

Again, I nodded, without actually believing or heeding her words. It wasn’t as simple as just working through it; she knew it and I knew it. What utter bullshit.

I met the same nurse at the door and followed her in silence back to my room. The radio was switched on in the corner and I lay curled up into a tight ball on my bed. The events of the last hour or so spun through my head, carelessly crashing into the fragile sides of my cranium.

The song was only a blur, a buzzing in my ears but it chased the smothering silence. In the silence you often retreated into your own head and after the session I had just had with Autumn it was the last thing that I wanted.

A nurse peered around my door, issuing her usual checks. However another appeared a mere twenty minutes later and I was struck with the sudden thought; Autumn has ordered a watch party on me. She did it every time she had an emotional session with one of her patients.

I sighed and allowed them to continue, pretending it was undetected. In all fairness I didn’t mind the constant interruptions as long as they left the stereo on; I was fine with my static.

****

Later that evening, after I neglected my dinner, I was taken to the visiting room. It was a room every patient either loathed or loved; more often it was a bit of both. The walls were pastel green with paintings by various patients. Unsurprisingly most of the patients in the hospital were artistic types whom found it easier to express themselves through writing, singing, dancing or painting. Of course I would fit in right away but I just had no intention of doing so.

Mike and my mother were sitting upon one of the overstuffed couches. The nurse watched me carefully until I took my rightful place in a recliner opposite and then she left the room. Silence followed.

My mother just gazed at me through tired eyes, she looked older than the last time I had seen her and, although she smiled, I knew it was genuine. Mike was a much better actor than my mother; he was also stronger and dealt with things in a better way. He moved towards me and gently wrapped his strong arms around my frail body.

I stiffened, as I usually do when people touch me. He immediately pulled away and retreated to my mother’s side with a rather downcast expression on his handsome face.

“We spoke to Dr Autumn a moment ago.” My mother cooed, still carrying off that stupid smile, “What a nice woman.”

“Olly.” Mike warned.

He often did this when my mother began to go off topic. He knew she could go on for hours about something completely unrelated to what she had first intended and so he took it upon himself to stop her. He also did it to speed things up, afraid that I would become upset if confined with them for too long.  
Of course he didn’t know I knew this; as far as he thought, I was a vegetable.

I just watched them as I usually did, my legs pulled up to my chin and my head resting lazily upon my knees. Gently I swayed from side to side, just to have something to do besides stare. My mother continued to speak about how things were at home and how well Autumn said I was doing.

My mother never used the word ‘progress’. She saw the way I always turned my nose up at the word and knew that I hated it. Mike decided to go against my wishes and continued to use it regardless.

“She also told us you had started to talk about what happened.” Mike spoke this time in a low whisper.

My eyes snapped up to meet his.

“Of course she wouldn’t tell us what it was.” My mother continued, her tone somewhat annoyed.

“Olly, she can’t. It’s a confidentiality thing.”

“I know, I know. I just can’t stand this.” She looked to me, “I want you to get better Billie. I don’t want to see you so…haunted anymore.” She began to weep and her hand went to cover her breast, “It hurts baby.”

I felt my eyes welling with their own tears. A lump was forming in my throat and my body began to tremble. I couldn’t take this.

***

My own white room, with its stiff blankets and wardrobe full of my own clothes, was my domain for the rest of the evening. For a while I stared at the ceiling, listening to the same track as I had before. After midnight I paced the floor in silence.

Tonight, sleep was not on the menu. I would much rather feel the pains of heavy eyelids than see him behind them.


	5. At night he cries away his pride.

Next morning I was called into Autumn’s office as per usual. Cold and sleep deprived, I took my place on the recliner opposite her. She balanced my file upon her slender, trouser clad leg and quickly tied up her auburn locks; a routine of hers before each of my sessions.

“You look rather…ill today. Did you sleep at all?”

I remained silent for a moment, contemplating the correct answer. I was already on enough pills to kill a horse and I didn’t want to add to it. God help my liver.

“Yes. I’m just tired.”

“Mhmm.” She scribbled something onto her notepad before placing the pen behind her ear.

“Today I just want to listen to you, like yesterday. Shall we call for drinks first though, as not to disrupt you?”

I nodded and, once again, she spoke to her secretary. Moments later a nurse entered with the same stash as yesterday upon her tray. This time I noticed a selection of tray bakes; things must have been getting serious.

After coffee was issued and before we initially began she talked about the usual stuff. My progresses, confidentiality, were my med’s alright and had I made any friends. Same shit, different day. I responded with the appropriate gesture at the designated interval and watched for the usual facial expression.

“Perhaps we should just begin.” She suggested, met by a nod on my behalf, “As per usual; take it at your own pace and in your own time.”

“Is never okay?” I mumbled.

“Bill-“

“I was joking.” I glanced up at her and attempted to crack a smile, by the expression on my face I could tell I had on succeeded in failing.

I grazed my thumb around the inside of my mug’s handle, taking in the texture of the smooth ceramics, savouring the silence soon to be broken by my hoarse speech. The cool air of the open window brushed against my skin and I glanced up at the clear blue sky. If only things were as simple as staring at the clouds.

***

Spring / Summer 2002.

It wasn’t the last time. Why he decided to pick on me, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he knew I wouldn’t say anything, because I was so small and easy to over power or because he knew I couldn’t fight back. I’ll never know, I never want to know, it just happened. He hurt me in ways I will never understand.

From then on I was terrified. No matter how I avoided him he still managed to corner me, alone and fragile. After a few months went by I had gained more than my far share of bruises and bites. I began to hide away from Mike as well. His touch no longer made me feel safe. I just wanted to lay in bed and cry. In fact, that’s what I did.

After my third week of lying in bed, crying and avoiding any food or physical contact, Mike called the doctor. Nothing good came of it only a packet of pills. He encouraged me to talk to my lover and to quit stressing myself to much. I hadn’t been to the studio in weeks, I hadn’t written anything or even laid eyes on my guitar; so how he came to the stress assumption, I have no idea.

“BJ, sweet heart, you have to get out of bed. The doc—“

“I know what he said!” I snapped.

“Please, just get up for me.” he cooed, gently stroking me hair.

I growled and, in a bid to get away from his touch, I launched myself from the bed. My knees buckled but I took hold of the bed post quickly for support.

“Fuck! Are you alright baby?”

Mike was by my side, his arm linked around my waist. I pushed him away from me and sat back upon the bed. My head came to rest in my hands.

“J-just leave me alone.” I cried, “Please. Tomorrow. I swear I’ll go to work tomorrow.”

“You promise?” he answered sounding rather hurt by my violent behaviour.

“Yes.”

He left after that, slamming the door behind him. Only then did I look up and stagger into the un suite bathroom. I gripped the edge of the sink until my knuckles went white; my face was inches from the mirror. The man I was gazing at was not me.

He had dark circles under his eyes, hollow cheek bones and dry, cracked lips. But he had the same crooked teeth. The colour in his eyes were dull but undoubtedly green. The jutting collar hones and clearly visible Adam’s apple caught me off guard.

I had become my own ghost.

*****

I did go to the studio the next day, as promised. On the journey I silently hoped that Tre wouldn’t be present, of course reality had other plans. He was sitting in the corner, a beer in his hand and a grin on his face. He talked to the other members as if nothing had happened; he greeted Mike as if what he had done to me was a mere dream. He even asked me how I was feeling. I grunted in reply and took the seat furthest from his. Mike nudged me roughly in the ribs.

“Baby, don’t so rude.”

I snarled back at him and folded my arms tight against my chest. Inside I was physically shaking.


	6. Wake up.

We talked and practised. I acted as normal as I possibly could with Tre so close. Mike regularly reminded me to take my pills and when food was being passed around he watched me eat it. I hated that more than anything. I don’t have an eating disorder, no way, I just wasn’t hungry and felt it hard to eat. Food repulsed me.

No matter how far away from Tre I was and no matter how close the others were, he still managed to get me on my own. I had escaped to the bathroom for no longer than five minutes and when I came back Tre was the only one in the wreck room. I stiffened and hovered in the doorway.  
“W-where are they?” I stammered.

On that note he rose from his position and sauntered towards me, his eyes half closed and a smirk on his face. I couldn’t move, my legs refused. His face was inches from mine and I could smell the beer on his breath.

“Gone. Went for a drink. I told them I would wait for you and bring you with me.”

“W-why?” Like I needed to ask.

“I haven’t had your sweet ass in so long. Where have you been hiding?” He took hold of my shirt collar and tucked me closer, “You better not have squealed.”

I shook my head violently. He forced his lips to mine and kissed me roughly.His hands went to pin my arms to the wall and his body pressed against mine.

***

I couldn’t stop myself from biting at the skin around my nails. Tears were already forming in my eyes.

“Mr Armstrong?”

I glanced up at Autumn quickly before dropping my gaze and pulling my beanie over my eyes.

“What did he do to you?”

“I-I can’t talk about it.”

“Please.”

My heart was pounding my chest as I remembered the incident that followed; so vivid I could still hear the cracking of my ribs. I squeezed my eyes shut, pulled my knees to my chest and placed my forehead against them.

“Bi-“

“He hurt me.” I murmured.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“I do. I need to tell you. I have to get this out!” I clenched my teeth together and dug my nails into my ankles, “I can’t live like this anymore.”

“He raped me so badly I bled. He broke four of my ribs and….and he just kept hitting me. When the guys came back he told them I had attacked him and he was only fighting back.”

“How did he get away with it? Weren’t you the one with physical evidence.”

“He had scratches from when I had tried to fend him off. All the other injuries he injured, he gave himself.”

“He hurt himself to make you seem like the bad guy?”

I nodded before the flood gates opened. I bawled into the fabric of my bed pants and began to pound my head against my knees. Autumn was next to me in a matter of moments trying to stop me.

I gave in and, when she wrapped her arms around me, collapsed against her breast. I was trembling, my quick sobs stung the back of my throat and I was beginning to feel exhausted.

“I-I’m so sorry.” I whispered.

“No. No it’s alright. But you’re not telling me everything.”

“I can’t. I can’t begin to describe the pain I was in, the looks I got from the crew; From Mike. They wanted to charge me with something but Tre wouldn’t let them. They just threw me into the hospital instead.”

“We can leave the hospital for tomorrow’s session.” She cooed softly into my ear, “A lot happened after that and I don’t want to over load you.”

Kindly, she passed me a tissue. When I tried to get to my feet she caught me as I stumbled. The combination of crying, exhaustion and starvation had finally caught up with me and I felt weaker than a new born kitten. She called for a nurse who quickly brought me a wheelchair.

Degrading. That’s what it was. I felt so useless and, for the first time, I felt like I belonged here.

***

From the moment I lay down on my bed I wanted to die. Then and there I would have begged the Lord to give me peace. I could feel my heart beating but nothing else. The pain in my skull was dull, my aching limbs were nothing more than pricks; I was dead inside.

I thought admitting what you felt, what you remember, would help you feel better. Why did I feel so bad?

Why did every breath feel like punishment?

I can only remember one other time that I have ever felt worse than this ; It landed me in here head first.


	7. Strawberry.

**Diary entry 01.**

 _Saints. The lot of them. All blood sucking saints. Graceful in the eyes of all men and women alike; fetid in mine. They use their devices and certificates to win the battle, but I will win the war. Had I not been bond to the bed on which I lay I would show them just how easily they could be outsmarted. Knowledge was nothing without common sense._

 _I had common sense._

 _I knew reality was cold and meaningless, shaded by its flowers and emotions such as love. What about the less desirable of emotions? Hate, pain, fear? They were only words until you felt them. So was love.  
The lonely had no place in this world. The realists were shunned and cursed for opening everyone’s eyes. It was about time they saw beyond their pearly gates of heaven and saw the hell that the world had truly become._

 _I’m not ashamed of what I did. I deserved it for being here and the truth had to be told; reality was a murderer. These faint lines across my body only proved it. How slowly it had driven me insane until, finally, it sliced my arteries and chased my pain away with wine._

 _I’ll never forget the bliss I felt as I lay and watched the tiles turn to crimson. The strangest sensation was the hazy gleefulness and the warm liquid flowing over my arms. When things finally went dark I rejoiced internally, clapped my hands and whistled a tune._

 _But there was no ‘white light’ and no ‘pit of hell’. I had been saved, pulled back from the grasp of death and sew up on a hospital bed._

 _Discovering I was alive was possibly the worst pain I had ever felt; even worse than what had driven me to madness. I was so stunned I could on weep silently. My energy was drained; my body was cold and unfamiliar. I had been torn from bliss and thrown back into the bounds of hell; my hell._

 _That’s the point when everything lost further meaning. I lost all emotion but pain, anger and hatred. Sadness followed later.  
_  
***

Autumn gazed at me then back to the journal. I gnawed the edge of my nail and kept my head down, concentrating hard on the pattern of my creepers.

“You wrote this?”

I nodded. “In the hospital, when my muscles had returned some movement I just had to write something.  
So, that just….existed.”

“It’s very raw Billie. Very powerful and rather disturbing.” She flipped through the rest of the book, uncovering doodles and pieces of scrap writing, “That’s all you’ve written about the event?”

“Yeah.” I mumbled.

“ Can you perhaps explain a little more for me?”

I sighed.

***

When I got out of the hospital for my damaged ribs I retreated back to my reclusive life style. Mike kept asking me about what happened and I ignored his bitterly. The look he had given me when Tre had told him had cut deeper than any knife. He continued to go to work but without me. And I was glad.

I still didn’t eat, I couldn’t keep anything down. It was as if my body was punishing me for being such a fucking waste of space.

When I was alone I started to hurt my self. I would sit on the edge of the bathtub, pull down my bed pants and slice a new line of cuts every day. I went deeper and deeper just begging to feel something. But it was no use. I was dead inside. I pushed the pointed tip of the razor into my thigh and slowly dragged it across the pale skin. A gaping wound soon formed, the blood pooling to the surface and dripping on to the tiles below. More often than not I had to use butterfly stitches to close the cuts, if I hadn’t I would have bled out.  
I moved to my stomach and then to my arms soon after. The skin was shallower and the blood was more of an orange tinge. It stung unlike my thigh. The small spurts of pain was like a drug, it rushed through my body, my heart beat faster and I could see my pulse in the flowing blood.

Even now, as I look at the scars, I can remember the feeling behind each. The motivation and the story.  
Mike and I never made love, he tried to touch me and comfort me but I abruptly pushed him off. So, it’s safe to say he never noticed. However, inevitably, he noticed my weight.

“You need to eat something baby.” He would coo.

I simply rolled onto my side and ignored him.

The final blow, the moment I felt all hope was lost, was one evening Mike came home from the studio. He swore and yelled at me. Told me I was being an idiot for laying in here when I had absolutely nothing to be depressed about. He accused me of not loving him and then he gripping my arm. I winced from the pressure, pulling away from his grasp.

“W-what?” Mike looked confused.

I cowered away from him and pulled my arms across my chest.

“Billie, what’s going on?”

He gently reached forward and pulled my arms apart. The sleeves were rolled up before I could stop him, my pale, scarred flesh on full show. He pushed me away as if I were some sort of horrible monster and stared at me through horror struck eyes.

“What the fuck Billie Joe!? Are-are you crazy?! You want to kill yourself then go ahead. I’m done. I can’t take you shit anymore.”

He strode from the room, the door slamming behind him.

****

“It’s not play for play but its close.” I whispered.

Autumn scribbled furiously onto her notepad, her mouth pulled into a frown and her eyebrows lowered in concentration.

“D-do you want me to go on?”

“If you feel that you can.” She answered.

****

It took me half an hour to compose myself. Sometimes I wish I never had, other times I wish I had spent longer getting myself together. Maybe then I would have succeeded.

Everything was lost, without Mike I had nothing and at the end of the day I had been the one to drive him away. I didn’t deserve to live.

I could talk about the emotions going through me in those moments had there been any but there was nothing; my body was entirely numb. All I knew was the anguish I felt and the overwhelming desire for everything to just end.

***

“What more do you want me to say? I went to the bathroom, slit open my wrists,” I held my arms out to her and indicated to the largest of the scars, from wrist to elbow, “and waited. Okay?”

“I understand it’s hard.”

“No. No you don’t. You don’t need all these details. Long story short; I wish I was dead. There! Is that what you want?” I began to weep, “This is too much.”

“What is?” Autumn asked calmly, she leant forward in her chair and rested her head on her hand.

“Reliving it. You have the details; you know what happened when I got to the hospital.”

“I know.” She sighed, “Do you really want to die?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why say it?”

“I don’t know.”

Autumn sighed heavily and tapped her pencil against her note pad. Her expression was pensive; her lip was being gnawed in concentration. She had something on her mind; I knew it and I didn’t like it.

“We need to speak to Mike. Both of us.”

“What?!”

“He needs to know the truth if you are ever to return to a semi normal life. Please, at least think about it?”

I neglected to react. She called the nurse and I happily excited the room, leaving her in complete suspense of my decision.


	8. Song for the end.

**Why did I do it?**

 **At night I would sit in my lonely apartment and turn this question over and over in my mind. How could I hurt my best friend in such a horrid way? Had I not self control, no respect for the man I had injured; not just physically, but mentally.**

 **I had felt so abandoned at the time. I was angry and seeing Billie Joe and Mike in such a happy relationship hurt me. I began to think things. Things I am too ashamed to even admit now. As if I deserved any peace.**

 **I can’t begin to even describe the feelings I was having. I guess Billie Joe has that same problem now. All I know is when I was balls deep in his pretty, tight ass with him writhing and screaming below me; I was in heaven. It made me feel better to hurt something so beautiful and perfect, someone who had given up his wonderful wife and gained a wonderful man. What gives him the right to have everything good in his life? He managed to stay good friends with Adie and the kids? Bullshit.**

 **But no, no. He doesn’t deserve what I did to him. The broken bones, the blood, the cuts and bruises. Not to mention the verbal abuse.**

 **I can’t believe it even happened. It was as if my body was suddenly taken over and I was left watching helplessly behind class. I couldn’t control it.**

 **Call me crazy, call me whatever you want. I don’t care.**

 **I can’t live with this shame. Every moment I relive it, I hear the screaming, the weeping. It’s about time I ended this whole conspiracy surrounding Billie Joe. They think he’s crazy, violent and unstable. Only two out of three of these things are correct; the other is me.**

 **I have nothing and no one left. Probably how Billie is feeling and he shouldn’t be. All the more reason to tell everyone what happened. It’s not like I’ll make it to prison.**

****

Mike was in the hallway talking with Autumn while I sat in her office feeling paranoid and melancholy. All this just a week after my last session. I chewed at my finger nails, my legs pulled up tight against my chest, and glanced around at the room I had visited far too many times but never once noticed. Documents hung in class frames upon the walls, photos accompanied them, several small house plants spotted various surfaces and the bookchest held large, leather bond editions each with their own elaborate title.

The smell, I concluded, was of coconut and cinnamon with just a hint of chocolate. I liked it immediately and at once began to feel a little more comfortable. It was easier paying attention when you didn’t have someone distracting you.

However the voices outside were becoming louder, my boyfriend sounded particularly distraught while I could hear Autumn trying to calm him down. What could I have possibly done now? My anxiety crept back into my chest and I pulled my les up tighter to my chest. I concentrated on the smell, allowing it to fill my head and hit the back of my throat; it didn’t taste quite as nice as it smelt, it was just air.

The door behind me opened and Mike took a seat by my side. I didn’t dare look up at him until I felt him gently pat the back of my head. Autumn was sitting close as well, on the coffee table in front of me and the moment I looked into Mike’s watery, blue eyes I knew something was up.

“W-what?” I whispered.

Mike’s eyes widened and I realized this was the first time he had heard my voice in months. Slowly a smile pulled at the edges of his mouth, tears welled in his eyes and he gulped, trying to hold back his tears. I looked to Autumn for some sort of indication to what was happening but she simply handed Mike a tissue.  
“I’m so sorry BJ.” Mike blubbered as he wiped at his eyes.

All I could do was watch as my boyfriend mumbled and wept trying to compose himself. Autumn patted him on the back and whispered ‘you’re doing well’ as if he was the one with the problems.

“Someone tell me what is going on.” I softly said.

“He was the one who did this to you. You never touched him did you BJ?” Mike replied.

“Who?”

“Tre. Tre was the one who hurt you. H-he told us. Everything.”

I stiffened and pulled my knees in even closer. I felt like my chest had tightened, the blood in my veins went ice cold and I felt physically ill.

“Everything?” I mumbled.

“Why didn’t you say anything to me BJ? I – I would have believed you baby.”

“No. You wouldn’t Mike.”

He fell silent, really contemplating what he had just said. Of course he wouldn’t have believed me; I wouldn’t have believed me.

“Mike told me everything that Tre said Billie. He admitted it all.”

“But why?” I knew someone just didn’t do that out of the kindness of their hearts.

Mike whined and placed his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry Billie Joe.” Autumn whispered.

“For what?” I sat forward in my seat, “What?!”

Again, my boyfriend let out a hard sob. His body shook with the effort to stifle them but I knew better. I reach out and touched his shoulder. He only cried harder.

“He’s dead Billie.” Autumn said morbidly.

The man may have hurt me beyond time and earth; but hearing that tore me apart. I may have hated him but he was my best friend for a large part of my life. Now, if I was hearing correctly, he was gone?  
I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. Autumn took a gentle hold of my hand and shuffled closer. Mike sniffled.

“You see. When he told Mike, and the rest of your friends and family, what had really taken place between you both he left without so much as an explanation only that he was very sorry. He was found this morning in his home.”

“He told us what he had done to you. Raping you and beating you and…and saying those things.” Mike  
gritted his teeth together, “For 2 years. Billie Joe, why didn’t I see it?”

“Now Mike, this isn’t your fault. Don’t start blaming yourself.”

“I- I couldn’t let you see. I was too ashamed.”

“You had no reason to be ashamed-“

“Yes I did. What he did to me was degrading, humiliating…I…I-“

“You don’t need to explain.” Mike whispered.

I hung my head and began to tap my fingers against my ankles. Mike continued to sniffle and rub his eyes while Autumn shuffled awkwardly.

“Tell me what happened.”

Mike sighed and began into the long, detailed story of the last few days. I listened as best I could my ears perking up at the particularly relevant bits. From what I could gather through Mike’s sobs, Tre had gathered them all into the studio wreck room, made them tea and then sat down to quietly explain the situation. He spoke of his numerous beatings and of the rape. When doe, he was brutally confronted by, not only the bassist, but the remaining members of the band. He didn’t fight back; he simply stood and took the abuse before fleeing. That’s what shocked me. It wasn’t the Tre I had come to know over the last two years. He seemed more vulnerable.

“Why would he admit all that stuff?” I asked.

“Maybe he was feeling quilt. Putting himself in your situation and then being brought abruptly to his senses? Why he did it in the first place, I can only guess was due to some intense anger problem or some form of MPD or schizophrenia.” Autumn answered.

I swallowed her answer, deciding not to ask question.

“Jason White found him this morning in his apartment. He – he had overdosed on sleeping pills and vodka. There wasn’t so much as a note left behind, no diary, no cassette; not even a drawing.”

I didn’t know how to feel. Upset, relieved? It didn’t seem right to feel either. I simply sat still, my arms grasped around my legs and my forehead against my knees.

“We all know now Billie Joe. It’s over. You don’t have to hide anymore.”

“It’s not that easy Mike.” I snapped, “What he did to me has left scars. Scars bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. It won’t go away with the snap of your fingers. What I felt, what I still feel, won’t just dissolve.”

“No it won’t Billie Joe, but it’s time to close this chapter. I know everything I need to. With some group therapy, family sessions and perhaps some rehabilitation for the self abuse, you will be well on your way. The way you have acted today has proven to me that you are strong and that you are more than capable to withstand the challenges ahead.”

I nodded. Autumns words may have been few and far between but they had boosted my confidence higher than it has been in years. I could do this. I could work at this each and every day and eventually I would be the singer I once was. The lover Mike wants back and the friend to all those that needed me. I smiled, genuinely smiled, and brought my eyes up to meet Mike’s.

He took hold of one of my hands and I answer by wrapping my fingers between his.

“Baby, welcome back.”


End file.
